Flirtation
by psshhhhh
Summary: Fenris blushed, Hawke bit his lip and their flirtation continued. Fenris/mHawke


First of a small collection of drabbles.

I: An impromptu camping trip.

* * *

It was supposed to have been a simple battle. That's what Hawke had promised because that's what he'd thought it would be. But there in some forgotten Thaig miles below Sundermount, they were not facing a handful of shades and maybe the odd Abomination. No, while the ceiling creaked under the weight of centuries of stone, the four of them cut, stabbed and set fire to a small army.

Isabella had almost fallen twice to a couple rage demons and a trio of shades, and was taking refuge beside Anders, where she could protect and be protected by their resident healer. Fenris was a ghost on the miniature battlefield, slicing criss-cross through the demons, not giving them the chance to trip him up. But he was getting tired, the glow of his markings burning meekly through layers of blood.

Hawke was doing his best to shout hoarse commands to his party but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see through the blood and sweat dripping down his face and the mass of bodies and spirits merged into dark shapes in the dim light and stale air. With every breath he sucked in lungfuls of death, both old and new. Anders threw up a cry for help, so Hawke swung through thick layers of shades and Abominations alike, following the sound of rapid fire cuss words from Isabella. Fenris had run out of the energy to hop around the battle and was now holding his ground a few paces away with a Desire Demon.

He'd reached the pair; Anders had fallen to one knee, blood poured out between his fingers clasped over his stomach, while with his right hand he held up his staff to ward off a particularly angry rage demon. Isabella was out of sight but not sound; Hawke could hear her shouts and the _shh-thunk_ of her daggers hitting home. Hawke cut down the demon and swung one arm around Anders and lifted him up; the mage found the energy to whine about being manhandled even as a waterfall of blood poured down his front and about a half dozen shades tried to take his head off.

"Take a bloody potion," Hawke shouted into Anders's ear and he listened, while he chugged back a tiny red vial Hawke watched his back. Just standing near Anders meant a slow but steady amount of healing; it was no wonder Anders hadn't been able to defend himself, Hawke thought to himself, if he was using up all his energy keeping everyone else on their feet. Anders slumped against his shoulder, which did nothing to help Hawke cut down enemies, but seeing as he was still lazily firing off magic bolts he didn't have the heart to knock Anders off, yet. But Fenris was having none of that,

"Hawke!" Fenris' voice cracked oddly when he yelled, Hawke felt a painful lurch in his guts as he spun to locate the elf. _Fenris_. He spotted him within seconds, a few meters away, his heart pumping hard and fast in his throat. Fenris' thin limbs were splattered in blood, blood that dotted his hair, his face, dripped from his chin. The elf's expression was flat, default, though pulled tight with strain. His eyes stared with an unheard of fear. Lyrium shone meekly through the blood. His _eyes_.

"Fenris!" Hawke yelled back, half blinded with panic, was Fenris alright? There was so much blood, how much of it his own? Anders felt heavy, pressed into his side. Fenris' eyebrows snapped down and together, irritated?

"Hawke!" Fenris yelled again, more urgently, waving one arm sharply in the man's direction. Automatically Hawke twisted to see over his shoulder, face to face with a leering Abomination, which promptly struck him in the back. The wind knocked out of him, Hawke suddenly was perfectly at peace with dumping Anders on his ass, and swung about with his blade to cut the ugly beast in half. He hacked away at it until it snapped practically in half, a hot spout of blood hitting Hawke in the face, and he was momentarily blinded. Anders was there with a ready blast of magic to send every nearby opponent off balance and back a few paces, and then his cold hand was on Hawke's forehead, wiping away the blood so he could see. Hawke didn't even pause to utter his heartfelt thanks because Isabella was implying something crude about a rage demon's parentage even as it torched her. Hawke swooped in with a hefty swing of his sword, just like the knight in shining armor Varric claimed him to be, and splattered the demon into hot globs of magma just as Isabella was tossed off balance and just out of the range of Hawke's sword. She nodded at him as if it had all been planned. She was smiling, she always was smiling when they were sandwiched between life and death odds.

All of a sudden, just as suddenly as it had started, it was all over. The cavernous room echoed hollowly the sounds of their footsteps and Anders's groans. The only evidence they had fought at all was found in the thick bloodstains in their clothes and on their skin. "I think I may have to rethink my wardrobe choices," Isabella muttered, her words magnified doubly by a hundred echoes. Hawke looked at her, it was impossible to tell that her shirt was intended to be white under a heavy soaking of red blood.

Fenris stretched out his thin arms as he ambled across the room to them. His breath whistled fast and shallow through his mouth, but aside from that his body refused to give away any other signs of exhaustion. Hawke stared him down critically, his bright eyes scanning lyrium brandings for the slice of a wound, the elf's armor for a gurgling of blood. His gaze rose to Fenris' face, to find the elf staring back at him, his eyes wide yet absent. After a moment they snapped back into focus and Fenris looked away so fast Hawke swore he heard the elf's neck span. Had they maybe had the same thought? A wicked grin stole across Hawke's face.

They all clustered around Anders, Isabella shamelessly plopping to the floor, as was customary to heal up. Instead of sheathing it, Hawke used his sword as a sort of crutch to lean upon as he caught his breath. Casually, as if it were his own forehead, Anders reached over and once again wiped blood off Hawke's face. When he smiled tiredly at the mage, Hawke could feel dried blood crackle in his beard.

Given a chance to pause for breath, the three of them looked to Hawke for further direction. Hawke looked across the room at the Evil Tome, he'd spotted it during combat – actually he'd practically fallen over it. Considering the amount of demons the room had held prior to actually touching the tome they could expect quite the intense battle once he had. He considered the state of his party, they were tired and injured, no one severely thank the Maker, but after a moderate rest everyone could be back in passable fighting form. He'd hate to have to turn around after all this anyways, only to return a later day, and so long as Anders was able to keep everyone on their feet they should be able to make it through the battle.

That left what came afterwards. Fenris seemed to sense the track his mind was on, "It's a day's journey into Kirkwall from here," He said, in the same tone one might use to comment on the weather. But he was watching Hawke carefully. He had intended to go after two tomes that day, following a rumour he'd heard they were meant to next go to the Bone Pit, that horribly troublesome investment of a few years ago. But that was also a half day's time from where they were at the moment.

He knew they wouldn't be welcome in the Dalish camp for more than an hour of polite business, and at this rate they wouldn't leave the Thaig until late, late afternoon, which would mean traveling back to Kirkwall at night, exhausted and at the mercy of the half dozen gangs eager to claim the streets. If they were even allowed through the gates, which usually closed with the sunset. Though they may be partial to a noble like Hawke, the guards were strict and alert under Aveline's watchful eye. Hawke knew, Isabella had whined about it often enough. _Not enough wiggle room_, she'd always say. What options did that give them? Hawke watched Isabella spit out a mouthful of blood then wash it down with a slurp of a poultice.

"We could spend the night on the Wounded Coast," Anders had also caught on to Hawke's train of thought. His offer was made off hand but Hawke didn't see what options they had.

"The Wounded Coast? Are you mad?" Isabella looked at Anders, incredulous, "Spend the night snuggling up with the Tal-Vasoth? No thank you."

"I don't doubt you've snuggled worse," Anders shot back.

"Enough," Hawke said before they could turn it into a row. Isabella and Anders went quiet, happily sneering at each other like school children, "As wonderful as I know it sounds, I can't think of any alternatives. We won't be able to make it back into the city before the gates close, tomorrow we'll visit the Bone Pit before heading home." Isabella sighed dramatically but didn't argue.

"So what's the plan?" Fenris asked, everyone's gaze slid over to the hefty tome on the other side of the room, Isabella got to her feet and brushed off her bottom, which seemed a little silly when she was so completely doused in blood.

"Generally the spirits appear around the room," Hawke drew a circle in the air to indicate what he meant, "So we'll beat them to it. Fenris, the moment you're out of energy I want you with Anders, you two keep each other alive." Neither looked all that pleased about the arrangement but no one said anything, Hawke turned on Isabella, "After you get the first couple that appear near you, I want you on the edge of the battle. Jump in whenever you get the chance, but jump _out_ whenever you get the chance as well." She saluted lazily,

"Aye, aye,"

After a few more moments Hawke sent them off to three corners of the room and approached the tome, the moment he lifted it whispers of power and knowledge untold hissed silently in his head. He lifted his eyes from its' aged cover and darted them across the room, from Fenris with his blade unsheathed and his markings glowing through his skin, to Isabella twirling her daggers anxiously, to Anders obscured behind a whirlwind of protective magic, as he watched the mage mumbled something and all their weapons began to glowed like embers. Satisfied they were ready, Hawke set fire to the book.

* * *

There was a crackle and spark and the pile of firewood they'd collected caught flame spontaneously. Anders looked a little too pleased for this effort considering he cast this sort of spell at least a dozen times in every fight. Hawke had convinced Master Illen of the Dalish camp to sell them a couple tents, blankets and meat. He'd been hesitant at first considering the Dalish didn't often get canvas material, but with the flash of silver and a promise of a swift return he'd given in. The tents were construed with polished maple beams and canvas sown together and had been deceptively difficult to cobble together; if it weren't for Anders who had built a lifetime's worth of tents during his journeys with the Hero of Ferelden, they might have had to camp out under the stars.

Despite Fenris getting a little over enthusiastic about chopping up trees and Isabella cracking far too many 'pitching tents' jokes, which she felt fell flat without Varric to echo some back, setting up camp went along smoothly. They'd found a nice little clearing not too far from one of the Guard's signal fires, off the path and out of the way, surrounded by a nice little fence of bushes. There was a small skirmish about sleeping arrangements; Isabella was eager to share a tent with Fenris, who declined as her purring compliments were beginning to make him feel uncomfortable, especially in the company of Hawke. Hawke wasn't too keen on sharing with the pirate either; on more than one occasion she had made offers his way – there was something so titillating about a challenge to Isabella. Anders didn't seem to give a flying fuck either way, so eventually they just stuck him in with Isabella.

The four of them ate a fire cooked meal of halla, elfroot and carrot, all but the elfroot purchased from the Dalish. Hawke was beginning to feel this one day journey was burning a steady hole in his pocket. But he couldn't complain about spending a gold coin or two with the amount of money he had stowed in his safe. They passed around idle chatter, both Isabella and Anders had tales to tell and it was the worst kept secret in all of Kirkwall that Hawke was an excellent listener. Eventually, long after the sun had set and the night began to deepen, Isabella rose to her feet with a leisurely stretch, "Well _I'm_ off to bed. How about you?" She smirked to Fenris.

"I am not yet tired," He replied flatly, as if he had not caught Isabella's track of mind. She shrugged, unaffected,

"Suit yourself. Wake me for my watch," She said as a farewell and strutted into her tent, the three men watched her go blandly, too accustomed to the sway of her hips for them to have an effect. Much of one, anyway.

Silence descended, there was little to talk about between Fenris, Hawke and Anders that wouldn't get heated. The two could argue over whether the sky was blue. Since Hawke had offered to take the first watch, and intended to quietly take the second as well, and maybe the third, he simply settled back against the trunk of an old tree and waited with his eyes half-lidded for the two to leave for bed. Which they did. Sort of. After the scuffle of feet in the dirt and a mumbled word that could have been 'goodnight' or 'goodbye', Hawke opened his eyes to find that Fenris remained seated by the fire. The flames sent strange shadows across his smooth face, giving new life to the markings under his skin.

"You should get some rest," Hawke advised, leaning forward to toss a branch onto the flames.

"So should you," Fenris replied in his deep voice, his eyes darted up to search Hawke's face, there was an edge to his look not unfamiliar. The elf knew that Hawke had no intention of resting in the near future, but instead planned to take on as many watches as he could. Fenris mouth curled in not quite a smile, not quite a frown and returned his gaze to its scrutiny of the fire, "You are a good man, Hawke."

"I try to be," Hawke admitted, a touch of humour to his voice. Fenris observed the fire somberly.

"How many times has Isabella sent you on a wild goose chase for that relic of hers?" He asked, not looking for an answer, "How many evenings have you kept Merrill company? Or Anders?" His lips quirked in a half smile, "How much time have you wasted listened to me whine?"

"Time with you is never wasted," Hawke told him, the raw honesty in his voice made it hard for Fenris to keep eye contact, something that looked suspiciously like a blush graced his dark cheeks. Hawke had to fight to keep a straight face; there was no call to grin happily like a moron.

"You are truly a great man to have remained kind over the years." Fenris remarked, his voice rising in admiration, or disbelief, "What do you intend to do once this business with the Qunari has settled? Once you have a peaceful future in sight?" He asked, "I can't imagine the life of a noble would be of much interest to you."

"Oh I don't know, maybe I'll find a handsome elf to settle down with," Hawke said teasingly, his gaze so direct Fenris felt trapped in those blue eyes.

"You don't worry that after saying these things for so long I might take you up on it?" Fenris asked, his voice a quiet rumble that Hawke could have sworn he felt in his bones.

"I'm counting on it, in fact," Hawke replied smoothly, dropping another branch onto the fire, sending a scatter of sparks into the night air. A cough from the occupied tent reminded them that both Anders and Isabella could hear every word. It also was a reminder of something else... Fenris's eyes strayed away from Hawke and the fire to the second tent, gloriously small, empty and awaiting their warmth. Hawke could see him swallow thickly, awakening a wicked smile on his face. Biting his lip so as to keep a straight face, Hawke busied himself with the straps of his boots, Fenris looking on curiously.

He removed his boots and stockings, placing both near the fire so as to dry the wet mud, and buried his bare feet into the dirt. "What on earth are you doing?" Fenris asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, he looked from the man's naked feet, to his face, then back again.

"I was wondering what I was missing out on," Hawke deadpanned. Fenris looked down at his own bare feet, which he had unconsciously wiggled under a layer of dirt. "Ah." Fenris said, at a loss for words, Hawke just smiled at him.

They sat that way in silence for a time, feet in the dirt, faces upturned to the sky. After a while Hawke casually stretched out his legs, his bare toes brushed Fenris's for a moment, then Fenris slowly slid his foot along until it rested, cold and dirty, under Hawke's, who smiled up at the sky, the stars tumbling above.

He didn't mind it, the long glances, the small touches, the rush of standing too close after a fight, their breath blasting fast in the space between them, adrenaline making their hearts pump and their opportunities endless. He didn't mind the easy flirtation of their relationship, years spent perfecting just how long he could 'accidentally' touch Fenris's hand before he got uncomfortable (four seconds) and just how drunk he needed to be before talking mostly undeterred (half a bottle of wine, or three of the Hanged Man's 'finest' ales). He liked having him in his sights as often as possible, he didn't mind just being able to soak up the sights.

He didn't mind just sitting quietly together, watching the stars and the fire, their cold feet overlapping in the dirt.

* * *

Hawke woke the next morning to the smell of dear meat sizzling over the fire and the sound of Isabella and Anders trading sexual escapades, the usual. What Anders lacked in number, he made up for in magic tricks. When Hawke opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Fenris.

He was sound asleep, his brow furrowed so as to stay that way despite the diluted sunlight on his cheek, but his face was relaxed in the throes of a dream, his lips parted ever so slightly to accompany the faint sighs of his breath. He'd taken off his armor the night before, it lay in a heap in a corner of the tent, and Hawke could watch his markings trail down his torso until his leggings cut a straight line across his abdomen. At some point he'd tossed most of his blanket off, it lay in a heap half on his hip and tumbled eagerly over his feet.

What Hawke noticed first, however, before he'd even opened his eyes or registered what, exactly, burning dear meat smelled of, was that Fenris' hand was clasped around his own.

It hadn't been Hawke's doing; he'd said his goodnights as they quietly prepared for sleep while outside Isabella tried to wake herself for the third watch. Somehow, both Hawke and Fenris had neglected to remember to sleep during the others' watch. They had stayed comfortable in the quiet of night until it was time to rouse Isabella. Hawke could recall falling asleep as he'd woken up, facing Fenris, though he was sure the elf had turned away when they first settled into the tent.

Hawke considered Fenris's hand, the pale markings on his dark skin, the callouses rough against the back of his hand, the way his thumb rubbed lazily along Hawke's skin, leaving a trail of electric sparks. His heart did strange cartwheels in his heart, stumbling over a couple extra fast beats. All at once Fenris began to stir, his face scrunched up, he inhaled deeply, his body tensed and then loosened. Hawke, for one panicked moment, wondered if it would be best for him to play dumb and asleep, but he didn't.

Fenris opened his eyes slowly, they were close enough to one another that Hawke could have counted Fenris's eyelashes had he cared to. The elf blinked, once, and then stared blankly into Hawke's eyes. A beat later Fenris stilled the movement of his thumb along the man's hand, his face unreadable, but his eyes revealed thoughts were tumbling a thousand miles an hour in his head.

Hawke rolled his own hand over and laced his fingers with Fenris's, something stirred in those dark eyes, some desperate longing, some held back desire. It brought to life the same feelings in Hawke, and they laid there, staring hungrily into each other, neither willing to make the first move.

"Wake up, lovebirds," Isabella sung, hitting her fist against the flimsy tent, "Time to get a move on!"

As if struck, Fenris drew back and sat up sharply, Hawke showed no shame in letting his eyes linger on the elf's lean figure, even as he shouted back, "Pack up your tent, we're setting out as soon as that food hits your stomach." There was the sound of Isabella dragging her feet outside, and then the unmistakable clatter of her kicking down the other tent.

"Good, ah, good morning," Fenris said carefully as he pulled on his armor.

"_Very_ good morning," Hawke nearly purred back. Fenris blushed, Hawke bit his lip and their flirtation continued.


End file.
